Lance Log 475: Bad luck, coffee, and fRICKIN' KEITH
by Whoops-C
Summary: Saturday is break day. Which means all books are dropped, the best clothes are thrown on, and its a trip to town for a cup of Hunk's coffee, some good Chinese food, and several hours worth of Overwatch with Pidge. Except today, it's all different. Shiro has a broken arm. Hunk has to maintain an eleven hour shift. Pidge needs an 'assistant' for her project. And Keith? Who cares?


**Sure just procrastinate some more with the fifty million other projects you have to finish why don't ya**

 **Coffee shop/College au Klance. These boys are gonna kill me, jfc**

* * *

Lance couldn't say he was a lucky guy. Sure, he'd scored once or twice with getting a pretty person's number, once won a free coffee grinder in a lottery draw, and once got an 'A' by guessing on a test in third grade. He couldn't say he was misfortune's scapegoat either, though he did once by 'accident' chop off his niece's hair when playing barber at age eight. He felt like he could call himself, 'Fortune's casual friend', who gets good luck sent his way once in awhile but gets slapped with cold, hard chance now and then when he was too greedy.

Today, though, he couldn't call himself 'Fortune's casual friend'. If anything, he was Fortune's lab rat, while Fortune tried to figure out the worst possible sequence of events to inflict on a normal human.

(Hey, your narrator speaking. You know, if you can see me, sitting in Pidge's room with a mic in my face but no camera, I feel like you should know in my head I'm doing a stereotypical *record scratch* *rewind* 'Hey it's me. And you were probably wondering how I got in this situation.' sort of thing, but Pidge says we can't do that. So just imagine it, okay? Before you get curious and ask 'Gee, Lance. How's a swell guy like you end up in this twist?' Just know that it's all. Keith's. Fault. And Pidge too, sorta. Significantly less than Keith though.)

(The little gremlin just socked me. I should probably start talking about the actual story)

Anyway, it'd all started on a normal Saturday morning. You know how Saturday's are like, the holy grail of the week? That day where you go 'screw it' and just go out and chill? You get a break and then you hit the books again on Sunday, but without regret if you'd done it on Friday or Sunday. You see, if you took Friday afternoon as the break, you wouldn't be able to focus on Saturday or Sunday. Doing it on Sunday, you just feel like you've forgotten some random essay assigned three weeks ago due tomorrow (long story behind this, I'm not gonna tell it). But Saturday? Kick back and relax, and use Friday and Sunday for the homework. Nine times out of ten, it's the best way to minimize stress/anxiety, for me at least.

(Pidge just told me I'm getting off topic. Okay, let's get back to the story.)

Where was I? Saturday morning, right. It'd started off pretty normally. I got dressed (black skinny jeans, Doc Martens, a blue Aeropostale tee, and a bomber jacket with a blue dragon on it, thanks to my school's Secret Santa event last year.) I thought I was looking forward to a good day, with my outfit on point and the sun shining. I figured I'd go get some coffee from the little cafe down the street, lovingly nicknamed Space Castle, pick up a phone number, and go on from there.

(Spoiler alert: past me was very wrong.)

As I walked into the Space Castle, I got hit with a the smell of roasting coffee and vanilla. My favorite barista, Hunk was working his magic for a blond chic standing by the counter. The place was empty today, with someone sitting with his face hidden by a gigantic yarn beanie.

"Hunk! My man." My best friend looked up from the pumps and smiled, waving the half-full cup dangerously in the air in greeting.

"Yo! Lance!" He added a few extra pumps of syrup and topped it all off with whipped cream, finishing it up and handing it to the lady. "Four-fifty, please." She opened her purse reluctantly and started counting out the money.

I walked up and pulled out my own wallet, worn brown leather with painted white stars on it, courtesy of my youngest nephew. "Here, I got it beautiful." I handed five bucks to Hunk, who rolled his eyes but cashed it in.

"Oh wow, thanks." She smiled at me, and all I felt something in my chest jump a bit. She was really pretty, dressed in a blue crop top, blue denim shorts, and flip flops. Her hair was held back by a silver barrette, and fell in two fat curls down her shoulders.

I was aware my mouth was sorta open (According to Hunk via Pidge, I was drooling. Pidge, stop texting Hunk). So I decided to switch to Smooth Mode™ and hit the first thing on my list.

"Hey, does your name happen to be Google, by the way?" I used my best pick-up line for this. I saw Hunk face palm and turn away.

She looked confused for a moment, blinking slowly. "Uh, no? What makes you say that?"

"Because, you're everything I'm looking for." I winked. Hunk audibly groaned, but she was laughing. I felt a blush going into my cheeks.

"Oh, you're sweet. Here-" she grabs a napkin and pulls a pen out of her purse. After a quick moment of scribbling, she hands it to me. "Text me, okay? My name's Nyma, by the way."

Wow. Time to check off the first one on the list. I didn't think it'd be that easy, honestly.

I watched her walk out of the cafe and stand in the sun for a few moments, texting someone on her phone. Next moment, I heard something buzzing.

I whipped out my phone, expecting something like 'hey cutie' or something. Nope. Instead, the guy sitting alone at his table pulled out his phone, and walked out to join her. My phone had never buzzed in the first place.

"Harsh." Hunk said, as the scraggly dude tugged his beanie down a little further and adjusts his black hoodie, before walking out and joining her. They leave together, and the sound of laughter echoed outside. Guess I didn't get her number after all, and I tore it up and chucked it, rather disappointed.

"She liked my pickup line." I scowled at Hunk, as he set about making my drink. Today, it was something with vanilla and chocolate, a holy combo, with a twist of a few raspberries and blueberries tossed into the whipped cream. Can't go wrong with that.

"She laughed at your pickup line." He replies, handing me the warm plastic cup. "Here's your five dollar drink, which you never pay for."

"Because you love me. Also, because I saved your butt last summer in that aerophysics course from Iverson's wrath."

"You inflicted the wrath on me in the first place, you're the one that texted me in class."

"And I deflected it back to me, didn't I?" I take a gulp, and feel a blueberry hit my throat in a flush of chocolate. It bursts, in a little explosion of sour sweetness, tart and fresh.

"So, where to now Lance? Ditching on college homework again?" He leans on his hand and grins, though he sounds exasperated.

I take the straw out of my mouth long enough to correct him. "Uh, no. It's not ditching-" I take another sip, pausing to savor it and swallow. "It's called postponing. And it's a perfectly acceptable practice."

Hunk's only reply is a long-suffering sigh, and he leans back to wipe his hands on a nearby towel. "One of these days, it's going to go back and bite you."

"I've been doing this since freshman year. I think that one more day won't kill me." I settle down on the stool by the counter, leaning on my elbows.

My buddy just rolls his eyes, turning back to his barista duties, wiping the counter and restocking the topping ingredients. Being the assistant manager of Space Castle, he took a lot of pride in his drinks, making sure all the berries and syrups were fresh and all. Not even the meanest customer could turn up their nose to Hunk's coffee, and especially not Hunk himself. Nine times out of ten, if he offers you a hug, you took it. The guy's like a giant teddy bear.

"So, what's the plan? While you 'postpone' your homework?" He says, making air quotes.

I finish off the drink, feeling my belly warm happily. Man, Starbuck's got nothing on this.

"You know." I aim the cup at the trash can and nail it in one. Bingo. "The usual."

Hunk just snorts and continues cleaning one of the pump nozzles. "Usual. You're waiting for me to finish up, so I can go with you downtown where you'll spend a few hours looking at everything in every store, and buy nothing."

"And then it's off to Pidge's house, where we'll play Overwatch and marathon Star Wars, tell Keith how ugly his mullet is, and then eat Chinese food until eleven." I grin. "You coming?"

"Heck yes." He screws on the brightly shining nozzle back onto the bottle of caramel syrup, then washes his hands quickly. "Give me a minute. We have to wait for Shiro to come over and take over his shift, and then we'll go."

Shiro, if you don't know him already, is the Dad Friend™. He's strong, reasonable, makes the big decisions, and makes dorky puns and jokes. He's also the most accomplished student at Garrison Uni, built like a Dorito and looks like he could kill you. In reality, he's just a cinnamon roll.

He's also dependable to the point where he could lead you through the universe against evil cat aliens, but that's another story. The point is, today that title was meaningless.

He never showed up.

"Where is he?"

It was about twenty minutes after Hunk's shift by now. All the things were laid out and prepared for Shiro's round, me and Hunk were sitting on chairs in our jackets and stuff, and the sidewalk outside was empty of any Dorito man.

Hunk just frowned and tapped the tabletop anxiously, staring out at the street. "I'll text him. Maybe there was an accident?" He said, but we could both tell he didn't mean anything by it. We'd texted and called him several times before, and with no reply.

I just shrugged. The clock on my phone now read 11:05. Shiro was now twenty five minutes late, and that was a series of words I didn't think was possible for me to say.

Even as I was thinking those words, my phone buzzed. So did Hunk's. And a quick look at the screen was enough to tell us who it was.

We both grabbed our phones, almost knocking them onto the pavement as we scrambled to read the group text Shiro sent.

Group Chat: Like Nya

DadFriendinator3000: Hey, my arm's messed up. I'm in the hospital right now. Hunk, I'm sorry but I won't be able to take over today. Can you take over my shift?

I'm really sorry about all of this. Really really sorry.

11:06 am.

LiteralPrincess: Oh no!

I'll come over later with some cake. Coran made some lasagna, and it's not bad, I'll bring some of that too.

11:07 am.

FabuHunk: Don't sweat it, Shiro. I got it covered. Rest up, I'll take over your shift!

11:09 am.

PidgeIdgeWidgeon: Matt says he'll be coming by later with your senior project. He's asking if you need any pain medication for your headaches?

11:10 am.

LanceALot: Stay cool, buddy. I'll drop by with some coffee for you.

11:10 am.

"Dude." I look up and see Hunk looking back at me, a weird expression on his face. Like he was about to jump off a cliff but was at peace with it. Or he ate a piece of unripe fruit that he knew was unripe.

"Another shift. Shiro's shift is always during rush hour, too. And Shay, she's not coming today, she's got a project with a petrified Balmera, I can't do this, what do I do, what do I do-" He was hyperventilating a little, sweat beading on his forehead. Hunk got nervous easily, and it wasn't good for his health.

"Buddy. Calm down. Here-" I take the cafe key sitting on the table and open the door, pulling Hunk in with me. I help him sit on one of the blue plastic seats. "It'll be fine. And you know why?"

Crickets.

"I'm going to take that silence as a 'I don't know Lance. Why is it going to be fine?' And I'm going to tell you." I stare him dead in the face, and he seems to register it a little. A flare of hope sparks somewhere.

Then, that hope was replaced with something like exasperation. "Oh, no Lance. Don't tell me-"

"That's right. I, Lance McClain, am going to help you run this joint."

 **Lance I love you but why you gotta do this i s2g**

 **Chapter two is going to come out...my dude, I don't know. But have fun, enjoy, leave a review, all that good stuff.**

 **Pray for 2017. And Betty White.**


End file.
